


The Sword and the Staff

by runawaymemories



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Draco Malfoy is Arthur Pendragon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Merlin, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Slow Burn, apologies to merlin fans too bc i might take some liberties with the canon too, no beta we die like men, so i take elements from that for this, sorry not sorry but most of my knowledge of arthurian legend comes from bbc merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaymemories/pseuds/runawaymemories
Summary: Harry just wants to get through a year of Hogwarts as a normal student. Is that too much to ask? Instead, he has to deal with a meddling portrait who is convinced he has a great destiny that lies ahead of him, a Draco Malfoy trying to claw his way into redemption, and the slow dissolution of magic throughout the country.The Once and Future King is said to return when the land needs him the most. The greatest wizard of all ages returns with him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies! I've always wanted to try my hand at writing an HPDM epic, so here's the start of it. I've been inspired by other fics where Draco and Harry are the reincarnations of Arthur and Merlin, but hopefully I've been able to put my own spin on it. This will likely be slow to update, but I hope you enjoy this as much as I do!

It starts like this, on the first night of their first term of their eighth year:

Harry Potter startles awake from a dream (one full of magic and promises) stares at the as-of-yet-unfamiliar deep purple canopy of his four-poster bed in the eighth year dorms, and quietly resigns himself to another eventful year. The little voice at the back of his head is smug. Harry tells it to shut up, rolls over, and falls back asleep. He can deal with it in the morning. By the morning, he wonders what he is forgetting. 

In the next room, Draco Malfoy is in a similar predicament, but is much more frantic. He's had dreams of swords and castles his whole life, of course. It's not surprising—he grew up hearing wonderful tales as bedtime stories, all of them true. The whole, long, bloody history of his family liked to reappear in his dreams. He would be Vincentius Malfoy, running from the Queen. Or Septimus Malfoy, on a secret mission to oust the Duke.

But this. This dream feels different. The faint tingle of magic lingers in the back of his throat, in the corners of his eyes. He's crying, he realizes, as he traces the path of the tears. _Why the fuck am I crying?_ _It's just a dream, it's just a dream_. His tears betray him.

He tries, unsuccessfully, to go back to sleep, until the first warm rays of the sun peek over his window sill (and isn't that novel? A window that opens to the fresh highland air and not to the dark gloomy depths of the lake). Until the light banishes the last remnants of the dream and he too, forgets.

-x-

Or maybe it starts, more than a decade ago, in a child's nursery in a large, lonely Manor in Wiltshire, England:

His father sits in the armchair next to his bed, elm wand out to trace colourful images in the air to accompany the history of the night. Young Draco giggles and tries to catch them in his hands. His mother smiles and catches his hands in hers instead, chiding him gently.

"Now, now, my fierce little dragon. It's time to put your claws away. Don't you want to know what happened next to your ancestor?"

And so Draco learned about so-and-so Malfoy or yet-another-Black who did great and wonderful deeds. 

But more importantly, he learned about the great big magical castle Hogwarts, where his parents studied when they were young, and their parents before them, and _their_ parents before them, all the way back to the beginning of Hogwarts when the young children of the House of Blanc and the House of Malfoi first escaped the witch burnings on the continent and were welcomed personally by the Greatest Founder, Salazar Slytherin.

Draco had longed to be at Hogwarts too, the next in his proud line, down in the wonderfully cozy Slytherin rooms and surrounded by other people with the glorious weight of history on their shoulders. That's what his parents always said at least. Slytherins appreciated their history and culture the most. There, he wouldn't be the only one with all this _expectation_ on him. There would be another boy, the same age as him, with a lightning scar, and they would be the best of friends.

It was going to be marvelous. Draco went to sleep that night dreaming of castles and swords.

-x-

Or perhaps, even further back, to when Draco was little more than a wisp of an idea in the rounded curve of his mother's womb:

"Lucius, darling. I just had the most wonderful idea for the name! I dreamt of dragons last night and you know how my family loves their stars and constellations? What do you think? Our little dragon, our Draco?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. It's perfect, my dear." 

-x-

Or perhaps, that is not the beginning. Perhaps it goes even further back, when the first stones of Hogwarts were being laid down and the Founders joked together like the teenagers they were:

"How about this? 'Don't let the slithering snake into your robes!' Bahahaha."

"Don't be so crass around the ladies, Godric, or I'll suggest our motto should be, 'The lion needs the lionesses to keep the pride.'"

"While that is quite true—and stop smirking Salazar, it's no less true for you—Helga and I feel that we should use an animal not associated with any of our Houses."

"Quite right. What do you think? 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.' I think it's quite fun."

"Ooh let's use Latin. _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus._ It's proper mysterious now."

They had a good laugh about that.

-x-

Or further back still. Back through the reaches of time, a story that forever plays on a loop. A loved one's final resting place, the stone carved with care with his crest. The dragon, with the five-sided polygon surrounding it.


	2. New Beginnings

Harry spent breakfast absentmindedly shoveling toast into his mouth and contemplating the new Hogwarts ghost sitting across from him. The ghost of Colin Creevey was staring right back, a grin on his face, bouncing a little as he floated above his seat. Beside him was Dennis, who looked to be almost the same age now as his older brother. He was a little sad around the edges but seemed to be at peace. Harry envied him that peace, because even without a corporeal form, Colin was managing to creep him out with the staring. Or perhaps the lack of a physical form made it worse. Harry felt a stab of guilt at the thought.

"Honestly, Harry. Snap out of it. You're being quite rude, you know." Hermione waved her fork in front of his face, but didn't look up from the huge book she had balanced precariously between the jug of orange juice and the platter of scones. Her breakfast was still untouched. Harry reflexively looked to his other side to roll his eyes.

He had been half-expecting Ron to be there, mouthing "You'rebeing rude?" but found himself looking at Parvati instead, who raised her eyebrows at him before shrugging and making a discreet hand motion towards Padma, who was ostensibly spending breakfast at the Gryffindor table to chat with her twin, but was instead spending it with her nose in a book as well. They shared a brief, long-suffering smile.

Harry looked back at his toast and sighed.

At Harry's sigh, Hermione finally looked up at him and frowned. "Oh, don't be like that, Harry. You know I miss him too."

Harry knew. Ron had spent the whole summer agonizing about whether he was going to accept McGonagall's offer to come back to Hogwarts to finish their education or George's to come and run the shop with him. Harry practically had Ron's whole nervous rant memorized—”Harry, I mean, if you look at it practically, F-fred and George managed to get it set up _without_ their NEWTs, so it's not like I bloody need them. And George needs someone to help him out anyway, what with… Though, d'you reckon Hermione will still love me if I don't get any NEWTs? Blimey, one year without Hermione, I dunno if I'd survive, mate."

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had won out in the end, but not before Ron had shyly presented a ring to Hermione upon her triumphant return from Australia, parents in tow. She had said yes, of course. They were very disgusting after that and Harry hadn't wanted to examine his feelings on the matter too closely, though he staunchly resolved to be happy for them.

Harry had spent the rest of the summer avoiding them by alternately claiming that he had to clean up Grimmauld Place (which wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie, as the longer he spent at Grimmauld, the more random rooms quietly slotted themselves in between haughty portraits) and sneaking away with Ginny to play Quidditch in the back garden.

But that was the summer, and here at Hogwarts Harry didn't have to see his best mates snogging and shagging and doing who-knows-what over and under and on various surfaces. Harry glanced slyly at Hermione. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you miss him, Ron wouldn't shut up about—ow!”

Hermione was brilliantly red. "You shut up, Harry!"

"What?" Harry laughed, "I didn't even say anything!"

"Oh, I know you, Harry James Potter." Hermione threatened him again with her fork.

"Fine." He groaned. "What are you reading, anyway? Classes haven't even started yet!" 

He leaned over to take a peek, but Hermione hurriedly shut her book and stuffed it in her bookbag. Harry had managed to get a glimpse of cloth patterns, though. _Transfiguration?_

Hermione barrelled on, a determined glint in her eyes, "It's NEWT year! We've got to focus, they're less than nine months away now! I've already drawn up study schedules for the exams. Which reminds me…" Hermione rummaged in her (suspiciously deep) school bag and came out with a thick scroll for Harry. "Here's yours!"

"Er, yeah, cheers, 'Mione. Thanks." He peeked at the contents of the scroll. "Hey, how'd you know I was planning to take the new wandlore elective?"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes at him. "I've been owling Professor McGonagall, of course. Oh, here she comes! Good morning, Headmistress."

Harry saw Padma look up from her book and glance behind her to look at the Ravenclaw table. Professor Flitwick was also making his way there from the Head Table. She waved distractedly to her sister and greeted McGonagall before returning to her House.

"Good morning, my dear Gryffindors. I know it's highly unusual for the Headmistress to be handing your class schedules out, but it seems the new Head of Gryffindor won't be able to make it to breakfast today. He is rather... indisposed." McGonagall's lips twitched, but she refused to say any more.

Harry rather suspected that McGonagall had something to do with Professor Owen's absence. He tried to communicate this to Hermione with his eyes, but McGonagall missed no trick.

"Mr Potter, if you please." The Professor’s tone was severe, but she gave him a fond smile and a wink. “I’m so pleased to have you all here for one last year, let's not start it off on the wrong foot.”

And with that, McGonagall continued on her way down the Gryffindor table handing out schedules for the last time. Harry felt that this, more than anything else, signalled the start of a new era.

-x-

Draco spent breakfast desperately wishing it would be over soon. Only a handful of the older Slytherin students had returned, and the younger ones left a large gap between them. 

He could see Pansy to his left with a smile pasted on her face, resolutely chatting with Daphne and Astoria about their summers on the continent with distant cousins, far away from Britain. Draco knew their parents had wanted them to finish their schooling in Beauxbatons, and he was in silent awe at their courage to come back with their heads held high.

Draco hadn't had a choice. He wasn't allowed to leave Britain, and it was Hogwarts or the Manor for him. If he had to spend another interminable year cooped up at the Manor, he'd go as insane as the fucking Dark Lord. He had nearly wept tears of joy when his Hogwarts letter had come and he had written an effusive letter back to Headmistress McGonagall to express his acceptance, gratitude, and deepest apologies.

His mother had been wary about him going back to Hogwarts. She hadn't said it out loud, of course, but he could read it in the tightness of her lips and the way she sent a house elf to tail him whenever he left the confines of the Manor to walk in the woods or the village, or to talk to the farmers who were slowly trickling back to work in the fields.

He had nearly given in to her worries. There was much work to be done at home after all and he was Lord of the Manor now. New contracts needed to be made, the Manor needed to be scrubbed clean of the lingering remnants of the Dark Lord's magic, and the wards around their home needed to be stabilized. And his personal reparations needed to be made.

Many people lived in the lands surrounding the Manor. Technically, it was all Malfoy land, granted by the one of the muggle royals long ago, long before the Statute of Secrecy was established. Though their feudal obligations had long-since been dissolved, they still paid some lip-service to the Malfoys as their feudal overlords.

Lucius was not above accepting gifts of food or charging exorbitant rent, though behind the safety of the Manor walls he taught Draco to be wary of them because if they ever found out about their magic, they'd turn on them quick as can be. Draco had taken that to heart. As a child accompanying his father on his monthly rounds around their lands, he would hide behind his father's muggle disguise as the muggles chatted with his father about rents. They seemed harmless now, but the witch burnings were a frequent feature in Draco's nightmares. 

But no matter how scared Draco was of the witch burnings, it didn't excuse what had become of the villagers. The village had suffered deeply for being the closest to the Manor. That first night, they had screamed loud enough that Draco had been able to hear them from his bedroom. In the morning, while the Death Eaters were sleeping off the night's excesses and the Dark Lord was _away_ , Draco had gathered up what little courage he had and snuck down to the village. 

It was obscene. They were walking around as though nothing was wrong, though Draco knew that everything was wrong. There had been torture and rape and other obscenities, all wiped away with liberal _obliviates_ It might have been a kindness, if Draco didn't know they were only still alive because his aunt was toying with the idea of keeping pet muggles around for nightly entertainment.

So Draco did what he could—tried to send compulsions so that they would leave, little trinkets and amulets to the children that magnified their innocence and purity and hopefully hid them from ill intent, and vials of potions and cures tucked into stews. It hadn't been enough, but some had made it out. And bafflingly, they were slowly trickling back in.

Still, Draco could barely sleep at home—the shadows around the house were too dark, the noises too frequent, the buzzing of dark magic was too strong— and when he did, the nightmares made sure he wouldn't stay asleep for long. The witch burnings again, but this time Draco willingly tied himself to the pyre.

The restoration of the Manor could be done without him, thank Merlin. 

He needed to look to the future. Even with the Manor restored, they couldn't live off the land alone as many generations of Malfoys before had done. With his father in Azkaban, his mother on house arrest, and most of their other assets seized by the Ministry as war reparations, there was nothing much to be done but to get a job. And to get a job, he needed his NEWTs. And he had another Ministry-mandated task to perform, that would go more smoothly at Hogwarts. Theoretically.

But now, back at Hogwarts, he was deeply regretting leaving the safety of Wiltshire, even though he had left it in his mother's very capable hands.

To his right, Greg stuffing his face with food was the only thing that felt normal and right. Even the tiny firsties, who by all rights should have been scared shitless of him, were glaring at him from the other end of the table. Draco glared back but felt little satisfaction when they hurriedly looked away. After all, he could still feel the eyes of the rest of the Great Hall on him.

After the new Head of Slytherin House Professor Tonks handed out their class schedules, Draco politely excused himself and made his escape. He knew that technically, Professor Tonks was his Aunt Andromeda. He could believe it too. Even though she and his mother were estranged, there was no mistaking her Black ancestry. Her proud, regal bearing would have made his mother proud, but she so closely resembled Aunt Bella that his skin crawled just looking at her.

There was another thirty minutes before the first class was due to start and Draco estimated that he could spend that time hiding in his nice, private dorm room.

“Oi, Malfoy! Wait up!” A voice called out to Draco, just as he was leaving the Great Hall. 

Draco walked faster. He would know that voice anywhere and there was no way he was going to talk to Potter without first practicing his gratitude and apology speech one thousand times in front of the mirror. He had only practiced it 749 times so far, and it wouldn't do to give an improper delivery. His mother would skin him alive. Besides, it wasn't Potter's turn yet, and if his magic knew what was good for it, it wouldn't be Potter's turn until there were no other names to cross off the List.

“Oi, wait up, I said, you wanker.” Potter shouted, sprinting to catch up. Draco determinedly did not stop nor did he slow down. In fact, he sped up. _I'm sorry for being a bigoted arse. Thank you for your testimony at the Ministry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ Nope, his speech definitely still needed a lot of work. He walked even faster.

"Malfoy! Oh, for fuck’s sake. Have it your way, you bloody arse! I'm not going to chase you around half the bloody castle." The sound of the air moving rapidly had Draco whirling around, wand at the ready to defend himself, but he was met only with Potter's departing back and a wandbox floating in the air in front of him. He poked it suspiciously with his spare wand and it opened up to reveal his own hawthorn wand. Ten inches, unicorn hair, reasonably springy. His magic reached out for it, grateful.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, regretting his cowardice for the millionth time, but by the time he steeled himself to look up again, Potter was gone, the sound of his footsteps fading away.

"Thank you."


	3. Enlightening Conversations

Draco was yet again staring up at the purple canopy of his bed after waking up from another strange dream. Though he supposed he would take the strange dreams he had been having ever since his return to Hogwarts over the constant nightmares at the Manor.

This time, there had been a face in the lake, a woman speaking a garbled language he couldn't understand. She got more and more desperate as it became clear that Draco couldn't understand what she was saying. He thought it might have been the same mermaid who liked to wave at him from the other side of the giant window in the Slytherin common room.

He waved his wand and shimmering waves of light twisted themselves into numbers. It was much too early to be awake, yet Draco knew he would not be able to go back to sleep.

Draco had a List. It was hidden at the bottom of his trunk, under the strongest privacy wards he knew how to cast. The List was a Ministry-mandated-therapist-mandated-list, a long scroll full of names. Hundreds of names. Draco could hardly bear to look at it, yet he forced himself to take it out every morning to pick a name at random. 

With a resigned sigh, he got up to look at the List. Today, the randomizer spell had highlighted the name Neville Longbottom in purple ink. Draco was not looking forward to this at all. He hoped it wouldn't go the same way that his apology to Finnegan had gone yesterday.

Finnegan had gotten his standard apology—it's not as if he had ever been the direct target of his vitriol, nor had he even interacted with him much outside of classes. But Finnegan had had the gall to punch him in the face after he had delivered his apology. "You shouldn't even be here. You belong in Azkaban, Death Eater scum."

Potter, the bane of Draco's existence, had caught the tail end of that interaction and angrily demanded, ”The fuck are you doing?"

Draco had glared before schooling his features into indifference. His bloody nose had been dripping blood down the front of his robes, but he was going to make a dignified exit, thank you very much. "It's nothing for you to concern your pretty little head about, Potter."

As he stalked away, he could hear that bastard Finnegan loudly complaining to Potter about Draco being all up in his space and planning something evil. Draco had rolled his eyes but didn't catch Potter's reply.

He was going to be more careful when he approached Longbottom. Maybe he'd corner him alone for old times' sake. It would be hilarious if Longbottom wet his pants over it, thinking that Draco was going to hex or humiliate him. With a sigh, Draco let go of this daydream. Another thing his therapist had mandated he do: acknowledge reality. And the reality was that Longbottom was a war hero, had definitely grown _up_ , and Draco was more likely to be hexed and humiliated should he manage to get Longbottom somewhere alone. Also, Draco was in the wrong and was supposed to be making reparations, not creating more rifts.

Down in the common room, he found Pansy absently sitting by the window.

"Pansy, darling. I see I'm not the only one enamoured with the view." He slid into the seat next to her. Outside, they could see the whole expanse of the Forbidden Forest stretching into the distance. The Great Lake glittered below them.

"Yes, it is rather enchanting, isn't it? Much better than the perverts down in the Lake." Pansy replied. The girls had been horrified in their fourth year when they realized that merfolk lived in the Lake, as the shower room also had a great big window. Draco had been more surprised that they had never seen them. The mermaids had liked to wave at the boys from the other side of the glass.

"Still holding that grudge?" Draco replied, amused.

Pansy huffed. "Well, you would be too, if mermen had been oogling _your_ bits for Salazar knows how long."

"I suppose."

They were quiet for a moment, staring out the window.

"It's strange, isn't it? To be back at Hogwarts. But nothing is familiar." Pansy gestured expansively at the 8th year common room. It was much smaller than the Slytherin common room, and was decked out in various shades of purple, from the overstuffed couches to the walls and curtains.

"Oh, not everything has changed, dear." Draco tried to be reassuring as he took her hand in his.

He was rewarded with a small smile. "No, not everything. Anyway, enough sentiment for the day. Who must you talk to today?" Pansy asked.

Draco shrugged. "Longbottom. It's going to be dreadful, I know."

Pansy seemed to brighten. "Oh, no, you might be surprised. Neville's not as dull as before."

Draco arched his brow at Pansy. Pansy had been paired with Longbottom when Professor Sprout had announced the inter-House pairings for the year-long project, but it hadn't even been a week since then. " _Neville_?"

Pansy studiously examined her nails, but Draco could see her ears turn bright red. "Yes, Neville. Didn't I tell you that his grandmother dragged him all over the continent to show him off? We went to all the same parties."

"You did not. Pansy. Tell me you didn't!" Draco mock-glared, but considered how striking Longbottom and Pansy would be together. It was a good match, all things considered. He was a bit put out that he was only hearing about it now, though.

"Oh, all right. Honestly, we didn't. But you must admit, he's quite the catch now. I was afraid of how you'd react if I told you I've been spending time with him." Pansy admitted.

"It's all the same to me who you fuck, Pans." He grinned mischievously. "It's not like we're still fucking."

She hit him. "It's not like that. He's head-over-heels for that Abbott bint."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Pans."

She waved it away. "It's fine, Draco. I just mean, we're friends now. I'm friends with Neville Longbottom. Salazar, that's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

"You and me both." Draco chuckled.

"If you wanted to go talk to him before breakfast, he's down in the greenhouses. Draco… I really think he'll understand. And forgive you."

"Hah. I'm not expecting forgiveness. I've got to fucking apologize to everyone as part of my sentence, but I don't expect anything out of it. Don't worry, I won't hold it against him."

"He forgave me."

Draco was bitter. He pulled up his left sleeve. "You don't have this. Pansy, I know who I am, and who I am is Unforgivable."

He found him inside one of the greenhouses, tending to his plants, just as Pansy had said he would be.

It was so tempting to just hex him with his back turned. Fucking Neville Longbottom was now a War Hero while Draco was at rock bottom. Pansy would kill him though, and so would his therapist.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Longbottom asked calmly, his back still turned. Draco was startled, and then briefly enraged. What, was he so low now that he didn't even merit even a _glance_. 

He fought down his initial rage. Malfoys were calm and composed and fucking untouchable. "Longbottom. I'm here to apologize."

"Go on, then." Longbottom still refused to turn around.

"It would be easier if you looked at me." Draco was frustrated, but he had to maintain his dignity. He would apologize but he refused to grovel to someone who wouldn't even deign to look at him.

"Malfoy. I'm tending to a Venomous Tantancula. Do you know what else it is? Carnivorous. I'd rather not get my hand bitten off, thanks. But er, sorry about that." Longbottom sounded genuinely apologetic. Draco wondered at that. 

"Right, well. That's fine, then. Um. You see. Longbottom. These past years I've been a terrible bully. To you. And I also joined a terrible cult. And did terrible things. So. I'd like to apologise for all the terrible things I did that may have affected you, directly or indirectly. That's all. Good day and let's never speak of this again."

Draco turned to leave, but was stopped in his tracks when he heard Longbottom's reply. "I forgive you."

"What? Longbottom, no you can't forgive me. Did you not hear me? I'm a terrible person who did terrible things. I stole your Remembrall! I threw things in your potions to sabotage you! I called you names! I became a Death Eater! I tortured Muggles! I had your friend Lovegood in my dungeons and I couldn't get her out! I've cast _Unforgivables_. Merlin's beard, Longbottom. I am unforgivable. You can't just… It doesn't make sense!" Draco didn't know why he was saying all these things. Wasn't the point of all this shit to be forgiven? Shouldn't he be happy?

Longbottom finally seemed to be done with whatever he was doing to the plant, as he stood up and wiped the dirt off on his trousers, and finally turned around to face Draco. Draco hadn't really seen him up close in two years, and he was surprised to find that Longbottom was now quite tall, broad-shouldered, and had a stubborn set to his chiseled jaw. No wonder Pansy was enamoured.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Malfoy." Longbottom groaned. "I'm not proud of everything I did either. We both fought in the War. We both did terrible things. But d'you know what else we both were? Children. We were both just children. And Harry told me—you were stuck with fucking Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort breathing down your neck and threatening your family. I reckon there's not much you wouldn't do for your family."

Draco nodded, numbly. _I should have died_ , _rather than do what I did._ He flinched away from that thought.

"Then, I forgive you. It's that simple. You're trying to be better. So, friends?" And he stuck his hand out for Draco to shake.

Draco just stared.

"Or er, not friends then, but not enemies? Friendly acquaintances—”

Draco grabbed his hand to shake before Neville could take it back. "I'd like that. Friends." 

-x-

Harry was _not_ hiding from Hermione, thank you very much. It might have seemed that way, seeing as he was currently camped out in an abandoned room that was only accessible by charming the portrait of a cryptic dragon, which itself was in a hidden offshoot of the old alchemy wing. It made a very nice hiding spot, indeed, but the fact that Hermione didn’t know where he was was only an unexpected bonus. 

He loved his best friend, really he did. He steadfastly believed that there was no greater expression of his love than the months they had spent together in a tent hunting horcruxes. He just hadn't had much luck convincing her of that. After much badgering, she had finally shown him that book she had been reading at that first breakfast back and carrying around wherever she went. Harry had immediately regretted his curiosity and had been a mix of horrified and amazed that the thick book was actually a binder. A Wedding Planning Binder.

And after Harry had shown some interest in it, Hermione had not let it go. Like always, when an idea struck her, there was no use for it but to be resigned. She had been adamant that as the Best Man _and_ Man of Honor (she and Ron had nearly come to blows over who got to have Harry in the wedding party, until Harry had exasperatedly presented the only logical solution), he be as involved in the wedding planning as the groom- and bride-to-be.

Harry was regretting all the decisions in his life that had led up to this point, up to and including befriending Ron on the train and saving Hermione from the troll. They weren’t even a week back at Hogwarts, and Hermione had already managed to work herself into a frenzy of NEWT and wedding preparations. Ron wasn’t even there to distract her, so Harry had been subjected to questions of matching china patterns to lace and origami napkins in between rapid-fire questions on animagi and the twenty-seven uses of newts' eyes.

So, Harry was not-quite hiding from Hermione. He had come down the stairs to the shared eighth-year common room and had seen her bushy head bent over The Book and frantically writing on a spare piece of parchment. Her hair seemed more frazzled than usual, which only portended bad things for Harry, so he had made the executive decision to whip out his Invisibility Cloak and sneak away.

He had been on his way down to the Kitchens when he came across Sir Cadogan bragging to passing students about his new Quest to Slay the Dragon. Harry wasn’t aware of any dragons in school, portraits or otherwise, and had been intrigued enough to follow. Besides, Sir Cadogan’s fervent desire to “slay the beast” and his other outrageous tales were amusing a lot of the younger kids and Harry privately thought that they needed more laughter in the halls after what they had all been through.

Harry was the only one determined enough to follow Sir Cadogan on his merry quest though. Most of the older students ignored the knight’s loud proclamations and the younger ones eventually tired of the stories. But still, Harry chased Sir Cadogan as he galloped through portraits and around the twisting passages. Sometimes, he lost him when a stretch of corridor lacked any portraits, but he just had to pause to listen to the knight’s exuberant voice echoing through the halls before finding him again.

Eventually, he caught up to him taunting a dragon from a portrait on the opposite wall. The dragon slept through his threats. It was quite amusing to hear loud snoring accompanied by cries of “Rogue! Scoundrel! Get up, you lazy beast, and duel me!”

“Why don’t you go and slay the beast then, er, oh brave knight?” Harry fought to keep a smile from his face, trying to widen his eyes and appear appropriately innocent. “He seems helpless enough.”

“Merlin, you don’t actually think I’m going to tickle the sleeping dragon?” From atop his fat pony, Sir Cadogan gave a great, dramatic shudder. He nearly fell off his horse. Still, he appeared to be in good spirits, and he gave Harry a mighty wink. “Slaying the great Wyvern of Wye was, of course, my greatest and most noble deed in life, but this beastie is in another class altogether.”

Harry had heard extensively of the mighty deeds of Sir Cadogan of the Round Table during those long months he had guarded Gryffindor Tower. He was hoping for a re-enactment of the knight getting eaten by a giant, magical lizard, but it seemed his hopes were in vain. “What, scared then?”

Sir Cadogan puffed up with pride, “Scared? Pah! We of the House of the Brave Lions are scared of nothing!” He looked wildly down the hallway to be sure that they were alone and beckoned Harry closer. “It’s a secret, but me and this majestic specimen over here are good friends. He was quite lonely when his pet wizard disappeared and I suppose I was the next best thing.” 

He held up his broken wand proudly as if to proclaim his magical prowess. “I slayed the Wyvern with this, you know! Just me and my wits!” His pony seemed to object to that and tried to buck him off. “Avast! Halt, I say!”

When his fat pony showed no signs of stopping, Sir Cadogan seemed to be in even greater spirits. “Good Merlin, adventure seems to be calling again! Charge!”

And with that, the galloping knight stormed back down the hallway. Harry was left with the portrait of the dragon, which was no longer pretending to snore and had opened one huge golden eye to regard him. There was something familiar about that eye, but Harry paid it no mind. Lots of unfamiliar things had suddenly become familiar in the past few days, and it was just one more thing in a list of many. Harry chalked it up to the strange dreams he had been having.

“ _Hello, young warlock. You have a great destiny before you._ ” The dragon’s voice was deep, but seemed to resound only in Harry’s head.

Harry snorted. “Yeah, mate, you’re a Dark Lord too late for that warning.”

Although the dragon’s face did not change, Harry got the distinct impression that it was amused. “ _If you say so. Perhaps you are not in need of this room, then._ ”

The portrait swung open to reveal a cozy room, with a merry fireplace in the corner, surrounded by old squashy chairs. The floors were covered with rugs and the walls were lined with tapestries.

Upon closer examination, the tapestries seemed to depict various scenes from a bloody battle. Harry could see a little figure with a golden crown waving a tiny sword in the air. On a nearby mountain, a man in a starry robe raised a staff and called down lightning.

On another tapestry, several knights were seated around a table. There was that same figure with the golden crown next to the starry-robed wizard. If he squinted, one of the other men, who was toasting with a tankard of ale, looked suspiciously like Sir Cadogan.

Harry didn’t think much of it. His policy for the school year, after all, was to not think much of anything unless it was schoolwork. No matter what the dragon said, he firmly and vehemently believed that his great destiny was behind him, not before him, and he could live out the rest of his life being just Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, or the Man-Who-Saved, or whatever rot the Daily Prophet was calling him now.

Still, in the coming weeks, he found himself drawn to the room over and over. Sometimes the dragon required more cryptic conversations before letting him in (more codswallop about great destinies and some confusing tripe about _finding his other half_ —Harry didn’t realize that soulmates were actually a thing in the Wizarding World, but shrugged it off for future Harry to deal with) and other times, he would just wink and swing open without another word.

Very strange, indeed, but Harry resolutely resolved not to dwell on it. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth, and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have prepared for now, but buckle up ladies, gents, and all those in-between or outside, because it'll probably be a wild ride from here on out.


	4. All Bad Things Happen on Halloween

Harry had been making a concerted effort all month not to look at Malfoy. His eyes seemed to have a mind of their own though and Malfoy himself wasn’t making it any easier. He seemed to be everywhere that Harry was, though he knew that neither of them was making that deliberate effort. 

Of course, he was in the usual shared spaces—their common room, the Great Hall, their classes. Even though those places were always full of other people, his pale blond hair was like a beacon that drew in Harry’s gaze. Even when there were more interesting things to look at, like his godson Teddy’s colorful hair as he floated in a golden bubble above the students’ heads in the Transfiguration classroom, he inevitably found himself staring at Malfoy. Again.

If it was a nice day, he would catch Malfoy stretched out near the Great Lake, occasionally tossing something to the Giant Squid, or up in the air in the Quidditch Pitch chasing around a snitch. Though if Harry ever tried to approach him, Malfoy skittered away. So Harry had taken to watching him from afar, though every time he caught himself doing it, he wrenched his eyes away.

He also seemed to pop up in the most unexpected of places. If Harry was looking for an obscure book in the library, there Malfoy would be, tucked into a little corner away from accusing eyes. When Harry wandered around the castle, his feet would unerringly take him to the exact hidden spots where Malfoy would be reading a textbook or writing a letter or chatting with Parkinson. 

It was maddening. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen this much of Malfoy, even during sixth year when he had made it his life’s mission to follow Malfoy everywhere. If Ron were here, he would probably accuse Harry of using the Marauders’ Map to stalk Malfoy again.

The only place Harry never saw Malfoy was in the room the dragon guarded, which was a relief because he needed that room to hide from Hermione, who had only gotten more and more frantic as the weeks went by. Frankly, Harry wasn’t sure what else she needed to do to prepare for the wedding, even though it was scheduled to take place after graduation, because she had taken to fretting about little things like what font to use for the invitations. The volume and frizz of her hair, which was Harry’s favorite way of determining her mood, was worse than when she had been studying for their OWLs, even though that year had also had Hermione running an underground dueling club. So unfortunately, the dragon room was the only place Harry could have any peace, and he didn’t know where he would hide if it turned out Malfoy knew about it too.

Still, even though Malfoy was nearly everywhere he looked, it didn’t mean Harry had to _look._ Though Malfoy made that bloody difficult too, because he wasn’t terrible to look at. His chin was still pointy, but it didn’t look ridiculous like it had when they were children, and paired nicely with his sharp cheekbones. He had stopped slicking back his hair and it looked soft to the touch. Not that Harry wanted to touch it. Though there was no getting around it: Malfoy was fit as fuck, with his trim Seeker’s build.

He really was trying his damnedest to get over his Malfoy obsession but it was impossible when the git was going around the school throwing out apologies left and right and generally acting like a decent person. Harry had learned during one of his weekly teas with Andromeda that Malfoy also had weekly teas with his aunt, where he managed to play with Teddy without remarking on his less-than-pure blood or his werewolf father.

He couldn’t even escape Malfoy in the sweet embrace of sleep, because he was a frequent feature in his nightly visions. He wasn’t really sure why he thought so, because the man in his dreams didn’t look a thing like Malfoy. He was stockier and taller, with golden blond hair and blue eyes. But there was something about the way he carried himself that was achingly familiar: sometimes straight-backed and proud, and other times lounging on various surfaces. His haughty sneer and superior look all screamed Malfoy as well.

So, Malfoy was everywhere, looking _and_ acting really good. Really, the only thing against him now was that he avoided Harry like the plague, so Harry hadn’t had much personal experience with the new and improved Malfoy. As Malfoy obviously wanted nothing to do with him, Harry was desperately trying to want the same. 

-x-

The entire school was aflutter. The news was somewhat grim, no matter what side of the War you had fought on. It made the left-over Halloween decorations seem downright cheery in comparison. The Prophet proclaimed, in bold letters: “ **GOOD RIDDANCE TO RIDDLE’S FOLLOWERS: 23 Death Eaters Found Dead in Cells.** ” The article itself was full of speculation—assassination attempts, Ministry leaks, rogue Dementors—but no hard facts.

Hermione and Harry shared a somber look above the newspaper fold. Hermione seemed a little green, but her stomach had been more delicate as of late. She had twice run out of Professor Owen’s Potions class when they were dealing with smellier ingredients. She had taken to casting a Bubble-Head Charm before entering the dungeon room and the rest of the class had followed her example, as there was no point subjecting themselves to the smell of bat dung and bubotuber pus when it could be so neatly avoided.

Now, though, despite her unease, Hermione had a look in her eyes that Harry knew all too well. It meant that she was going to the library and come hell or high water, she would figure out what was going on.

Harry despaired. His strange dreams were bad enough. Just last night, a man with dark hair and blazing blue eyes had yelled at him to wake up until Harry had actually gasped awake. The dreams could be attributed to his overactive imagination. He could even handle the dragon who kept trying to convince Harry that he had a destiny that was even greater than defeating a fucking Dark Lord. It was easy enough to ignore what he said. He was just a portrait after all, and it probably got boring being in a corridor that no one ever came to. Indulging him was a small price to pay to gain access to the room he guarded, where Harry could relax away from the prying eyes of the rest of the student body, who thought their staring and whispering was discreet. 

So, dreams and cryptic dragons could be explained away, but mysterious deaths could not be ignored. This was supposed to be his perfectly normal year. Horrifyingly, he could suddenly sympathize with the Dursleys. _This must be how they felt with me mucking up their lives for 16 years_. It was a terrible thought, but it wouldn’t leave him.

“I can’t believe I let myself think it was over.” He could feel a headache growing. Thankfully, it wasn’t centered on his scar. He tiredly rubbed at his temples.

Hermione frowned at him. “It is over, Harry. Just because some Death Eaters mysteriously dropped dead...”

Harry found it a bit amusing that she was trying to reassure him despite the fact that she was definitely going to get involved by reading obscure books on magical causes of sudden death. Still, he was touched. “That’s just it, ‘Mione. When has any mystery ever left us alone?”

“They’re all dicks, anyway,” Ginny boldly declared. “I would have liked to see them rot in Azkaban for longer, but you can’t say that they didn’t deserve it.”

Despite her words, Ginny also had a small crease between her brows. She threw a companionable arm across Harry’s shoulder, and shared a look with Neville. They both turned to covertly regard Malfoy across the Hall, who was cutting his sausages into little pieces but didn’t seem to actually be putting any of it into his mouth.

Harry couldn’t fault Nev and Gin for their apparent concern for Malfoy, which they began discussing in hushed tones, because he couldn’t deny his own concern. If Harry’s latest explosive argument with Seamus was any indication, many people in the school would have rather Malfoy died in Azkaban along with all the other Death Eaters than continue to share space with them at Hogwarts. Harry vehemently disagreed. Despite everything that Harry himself had believed in their sixth year, Malfoy was a far cry from an insane, murderous killer, and his actions to aid Harry in the War at least meant that he didn’t deserve Azkaban. His actions so far only proved it further. Though, Harry mused, he was certainly not an innocent little flower. Still, he deserved to be able to finish his education in peace.

Today, he didn’t look as though he had been getting any peace. He had dark shadows under his eyes and only occasionally nodded along to whatever Parkinson was telling him. He absently rubbed his forearm. The names of the Death Eaters hadn’t been mentioned in the article, but Harry supposed that Lucius Malfoy had been among them. After all, he was a Death Eater currently serving time in Azkaban.

Luna seated herself across from Harry, blocking his view to the Slytherin table and cutting off his musings on Malfoy’s feelings. She plopped down a plate full of fruit and a copy of the Quibbler. “Don’t worry, Harry,” she reassured him solemnly, “Daddy says it has nothing to do with the Rotfang Conspiracy. I thought it might have, but all the Aurors Daddy interviewed said that the Death Eaters just died in their sleep.”

Harry tried to recall if the Rotfang Conspiracy was the one about Scrimgeour being a vampire or the one about gum disease taking over the Ministry. He rather thought it might have been the former, except that Scrimgeour was dead. _Or is he?_ whispered the Luna-voice in his head.

“Isn’t it strange though, all of them dying at the same time?” Neville asked.

“Oh no, not at all! There is a rather large amount of Dark energy around Azkaban, you know, and Samhain is a very charged night. This year more than most.” Luna picked up the Quibbler and flipped to a feature on Stonehenge. There was an explosion of lights above the circle of stones. “See?”

“Luna, those are just fireworks.” Hermione said gently. “The muggles like to set them off there.”

While Hermione and Luna argued about whether or not the natural magic of the earth could amplify muggle-made chemical reactions, Harry found his thoughts drifting off to the damned dragon. He was considering visiting the portrait and demanding if this is what it had been alluding to, though Harry really didn’t understand what he was supposed to do about it. It’s not like he had any real power at the Ministry—though, now that he thought about it, they had been attempting to kiss up to him since Voldemort’s defeat by showering him with accolades like the Order of Merlin. And he did personally know the Minister of Magic. Perhaps if he wrote to Kingsley, he’d tell him what was going on. Though Kingsley had been a bit miffed when Harry had turned down his offer to start Auror training right away, so perhaps not.

 _And it’s not like I want to get involved,_ Harry reminded himself. Though honestly, who was he kidding? The trouble usually found him, whether he liked it or not.

-x-

Draco was having a Bad Day. The past two months at Hogwarts had generally been a never-ending series of bad days, but they hadn’t been Bad Days like the majority of the War had been. They had been tolerable; he had a routine: wake up panicking from another strange dream where people speaking in that language he could never understand kept begging him to do _something_ , take out his List to pick a new name, track them down and deliver another excruciating apology, wait to be hexed and insulted or grudgingly forgiven, eat in the Great Hall, go to classes or the library, study with the other Slytherin eighth years in their common room (unless Potter was there), write to his mother, rinse and repeat.

The start of his day had gone as expected, even if today’s dream had featured the black-haired man who was Potter-but-not-Potter. His eyes were all wrong, to start, and the size of his ears was just ridiculous. He was also quite pale, whereas Potter’s skin was bronzed from all his time in the sun. But there was no doubt in Draco’s mind that it was Potter, because they laughed in the same sharp way and both grinned like the force of it was too much to bear. The garbled words came in clearer when it was not-Potter who was speaking them. He had been more solemn than usual, begging someone—Draco, _no not Draco,_ a king with a golden crown—to please wake up. To not be dead. To hold on for longer and never let go. 

It was, frankly, quite disturbing, and Draco spent a good half hour after waking trying to calm his racing heart and scrub away any evidence of tears. Strange dreams really should not have this much influence over his emotions. He was getting desperate enough to go up to the Divination Tower to consult Trelawney, but perhaps that was too drastic.

The apology to the Patil twins had even gone slightly better than expected. Parvati had glared hard at him until Padma had whispered in her ear. She had then deflated and formally accepted his apology in stilted tones before twirling away to sit at the Gryffindor table. Padma only sighed before offering her own formal acceptance. Before she turned to sit at her own table, she offered him some reassurance, “Don’t worry about my sister. She just misses Lavender a lot.”

Draco wasn’t sure how one could miss a girl whose best trait had been her beauty—her giggling and simpering had certainly never endeared her to Draco. He tried to force his thoughts into a more generous path: perhaps she had been a kind and loyal friend, though that seemed to be more likely if she was a Hufflepuff. Draco was half-certain her ties had been red-and-gold and Gryffindors didn’t really have much to recommend them. He recalled abruptly that the reason that she was missing was not because she had elected not to return to school, but because she was wholly unable to on account of being dead. Greyback hadn’t cared a whit for her beauty, in the end. Draco felt sick and decided that he really ought to just stop thinking while he was ahead.

The day had turned to shit when the owls flew in to deliver the post and had only gotten worse from there. 

Draco wasn’t sure about how to feel about his father being dead. After all, he had loved Draco fiercely and was never shy in his affection, especially when they were in private. Draco had had a charmed and idyllic childhood, never really realizing how poisonous the beliefs his father had ingrained in him were, nor how hypocritical. He had been taught to believe both in the superiority of purebloods and wizards while simultaneously fearing discovery by muggles. If magic was might, they should have nothing to fear from the muggles. 

Personally, Draco was tired of all the secrecy. It was a lack of knowledge that bred fear, and he resented his father for scaring him into never being curious enough to actually talk to the muggles, even the ones in their village.

It was hard to love a man who had taught you to hate, who had not stopped a great evil from using you, and who had committed great and terrible acts of evil himself. And yet, Draco could not say that he did not love his father. 

Pansy was trying to talk to him and he nodded absently at intervals to show that he was listening, but everything she was saying had been going in one ear and out the other. His inattention must have dawned on her, because she used one hand to take his, and the other to grab his chin and force him to look at her.

She had a worried downturn to her mouth and Draco felt terrible for worrying her. She really didn’t deserve to get any stress wrinkles because of him.

“It’s fine, Pans, really,” he tried for a reassuring tone, but probably missed the mark judging from the sharp rise of her eyebrow. “Really,” he tried again, “Father was a bastard and I refuse to mourn him.”

“Draco,” Pansy began with a sympathetic look on her face, “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know.”

At her words, Draco could feel the betrayal of his body beginning: his eyes felt too hot, his nose too stuffy, and he could feel a sob rising in his chest. He shook his head violently to dispel it. He refused to let anyone see him shed tears over his father. The Great Hall was the worst place for a breakdown—he would be unprotected on all sides and the whole school would see and know his heart. If he let them see him vulnerable, he was inviting the curses and the mockery and the disdain. Most of them still believed him a Death Eater deserving of Azkaban, and crying over the death of another Death Eater would only solidify that in their minds, never mind that it was his own father.

He managed to get himself under control and offered Pansy a watery smile. “Thank you, Pansy. I truly appreciate your friendship and support. But,” he took a deep breath, “Not here. Shall we head off to class?”

He stood and offered her his arm. She followed and gladly took it. “Let’s.”

-x-

As with all truly Bad Days, Draco had eventually ended up injured. He had been walking alone to Arithmancy when a group of fourth years had cornered him. He was banned from using his magic offensively and had planned to wait out the attack behind the safety of his Protego, like he had done during all the other attempts so far this year. However, to his surprise, his Protego had spluttered and eventually failed against the barrage of spells they had sent his way. It was enraging—their spells should not have been strong enough to break his shield, which had previously withstood far stronger and Darker spells than a handful of children could conceivably cast.

His injuries weren’t that severe. Just a few broken bones—he had endured worse pain in his own home, from his own aunt. It was just humiliating. The little bastard children had managed to cast a full-body bind on him and had tied him up with rope for good measure. Then they had then proceeded to tell him in great detail about how he was Death Eater scum who should have died in Azkaban with dear old daddy and the rest of his kind. As if he didn’t already know that. The humiliation to top all humiliations was the little red bow they attached to his head with the note: “Delivery to the Dementors.”

As he lay immobile on the cold stones of the hallway, he wondered if anyone would miss him. Would Professor Vector note his absence from class? He wasn’t due to meet Pansy until dinnertime. If he didn’t show up to Ancient Runes, Blaise would just assume he was skipping class and think nothing of it.

Just as he had resigned himself to hours of waiting, he heard footsteps echoing off the flagstone. He sent a desperate plea to Merlin and Morgana that it would be a friendly face and not someone who would continue to kick him while he was already down.

“Malfoy?” said a surprised voice. Draco would still know that voice anywhere and almost regretted that it hadn’t been Finnegan or literally anyone else after all. He would take a further beating rather than have Potter witness his humiliation. The footsteps came faster and skidded to a halt. Potter dropped down to his knees and came into Draco’s vision. He looked as angry as Draco himself felt. He looked alive and incandescent in his rage.

Draco closed his eyes, the better to not see Potter looking one step away from committing murder for him. It was a strangely arousing thought and he was glad for the full-body bind or else his body would have betrayed him.

“What the fuck, Malfoy, who did this to you?” Despite his words, Potter’s tone was surprisingly gentle. He took out his wand and began undoing some of the hexes and enchantments. He seemed to take particular pleasure in banishing the ribbon and note.

Draco winced as he was released from the full-body bind and his body relaxed onto the floor. Salazar’s beard, there must be more broken bones than he had thought. He bit out a greeting, because obviously Potter was too distracted to observe the niceties, “Hello to you too, Potter. Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it?”

Potter only looked more distressed, “Seriously, Malfoy, who did this?”

Draco only rolled his eyes and forced himself to get up through the pain. He had survived the Cruciatus Curse from old Voldy himself, surely he could manage to get himself to the Hospital Wing with just a few broken bones. Still, he needed to be polite, “Thank you for your concern, Potter, but it is in fact, not a concern of yours. At all. I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me as well, but I don’t want to feed into your savior complex and your head is big enough as it is. Besides, if you were a real hero you would have gotten here before those arseholes even touched me. Merlin, Potter, don't get your knickers into a twist over _me._ ”

That had sounded better and far less rude in his head, but it somehow got Potter to quirk up his lips in a ghost of a smile, so Draco counted it as a win.

“You’re a stubborn git, Malfoy,” Potter said exasperatedly, but it sounded a bit fond. Draco considered this briefly, but a sharp pain from his ribs reminded him that he had more pressing matters to attend to. If Potter had any sort of friendly feeling for Draco at all (and Draco rather suspected he did, though only Merlin knew why), he would be amenable to helping him.

“I am _injured,_ Potter. If you would not like to become so as well, you should consider bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.” Draco demanded in imperious tones.

It was Potter’s turn to roll his eyes, but he only smiled and sketched out a mocking bow before saying, “Your wish is my command, your Majesty.”

-x-

Potter left almost as soon as he brought Draco to the Hospital Wing. Draco did not resent this, but he did resent the fact that Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping him overnight for observation. He didn’t see why she felt the need to keep him, because a few well-aimed Episkeys had mended his bones right up. They only ached a little bit and she had assured him that they would be right as rain by the morning. A salve had already started work on the various bruises that covered his body and a potion had begun healing the small cuts. He felt well enough to attend the rest of his classes and sleep in his own bed.

Still, after he had gotten over himself, it was oddly peaceful to be hidden away behind the white privacy curtains. He could not see anyone who came into the Hospital Wing, nor could they see him. As he relaxed further into the starched sheets, he could feel his body untensing and the stress that he had unconsciously been keeping in his muscles was seeping away as well. 

Unfortunately, his mind had interpreted this to mean that it was safe enough to unclench as well, and all the thoughts and feelings that he had been keeping away behind his Occlumency shields came rushing out in full force.

 _His father was dead._ He let that thought linger and was unsurprised to find himself crying. His love for his father was a little flame that he had been keeping shielded in the back of his mind, and he took it out to examine it. It was blazing now. He took the time to weep for the father of his childhood, who had called him _little dragon_ and told him bedtime stories that were full of adventure. He even wept for the father that Lucius had been in the end, who had stopped at nothing to protect him.

After he felt like he had no tears left to cry, he tucked the little flame back where it was safe, and surrounded it with both the good memories and the lessons he had learned from the bad. He was determined to make the Malfoy name into something good, despite all he and his father had done to sully it. After all, his father had been robbed of the chance to change, and Draco wouldn’t waste his own chance.

As he drifted off into the sleep of the truly tired, he thought he could hear Granger’s strident but worried voice talking to the matron. Something about potions for growth and development. The thought of Granger’s teeth growing and growing like the spell he had once sent at her sent him off into a deep, regretful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I wasn't expecting to have another one up this soon, but these boys just write themselves.


	5. Interlude: Letters

Hermione—

Harry says you've been overworking yourself and spending a lot of time in the Hospital Wing. Are you okay, love? Please get out of the library and breathe some fresh air every now and then, though I do know you love the smell of books.

Regarding your question on the seating plan, I suppose we can put Krum near the family. He and Fleur and friends, aren't they? And I reckon we ought to put him as far away from Mr Lovegood as we can. Also, I don't really care about the tablecloth pattern, please don't overthink it and just pick whatever makes you happy.

The shop has been doing alright. George has been getting better too. For Halloween, he developed a product that causes a fake Fred-ghost to pop out of the walls and shout "Boo!" I didn't know if I wanted to cry or kill him, but he said that making a joke out of his death was what Fred would have wanted. I've been watching him closely at Sunday dinners because Mum would definitely kill him if he tested it out at the Burrow. 

Anyway, that’s all from me. Hogsmeade weekend can't come fast enough.

Love from  
Ron xxx

-x-

To: Kingsley Shacklebolt  
Minister for Magic, Ministry of Magic

Dear Minister Shacklebolt,

Thank you for sending word about the Death Eaters, though I regret that your owl arrived a tad too late. The Daily Prophet was able to break the news before I was able to personally inform Mister Malfoy and Miss Avery about the death of their fathers. I confess that I am quite concerned about young Miss Avery in particular, as she is only in her first year and some of the students can be quite cruel.

Please let me know if there is anything further that threatens the safety of the school or any of my students. 

Warm Regards,   
Minerva McGonagall   
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S. Tea on Friday at the usual time? I shall bring the scones.

-x-

Dearest Cissy,

I was sorry to hear about Lucius. I know you loved him dearly.  Certainly more than dear Bella ever loved her own husband. I am trying to refrain from being a bitter old hag, but alas, old habits die hard. However, I truly do regret that you have lost your husband and I wanted to extend my deepest sympathies, from one widow to another. I hope that you know I am here should you ever wish to talk.

As requested, I have continued keeping an eye on Draco. He has been excelling in his classes. Filius tells me that he is quite talented in Charms, which was your favorite subject as well if memory serves me right. We meet for tea every Tuesday and he has grown up to be a delightful young man. I have been quite glad for the opportunity to be close to family once more.

I have also enclosed some more pictures of baby Teddy. I think you will enjoy the one where he sneezes and his hair changes color to be the exact shade as Draco’s. They are quite fond of each other.

Your loving sister,   
Andromeda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short lil interlude while I work on the next chapter. We'll be seeing the Hogsmeade weekend soon.


End file.
